Reading a family history, while certainly not as great a task as writing one, is nonetheless overwhelming especially in this instance when there are so many favourable details to be said of it. Foremost the medium; viz., paper. This particular history (for the record called, “Who we are: a family history” by Joan G. Fairweather) was printed and bound in Canada. The binding though not hard cover is conveniently of spiral binding.
The tantalizing smell of toast wafted into the bedroom early this morning. There was something different about it though. A purity, a cleanliness, an effervescence. Later I learned it was cinnamon, a sign of things to follow. This was to be a complicated day.
This morning’s invitational breakfast at the golf club distinguishes itself for having been a communion strictly of family; viz., my brother-in-law, his younger brother, my partner and I. We sat on the outside patio overlooking the 10th tee and the distant hole. The Mississippi River dreamily passed nearby with the shoreline trees languishing in the mounting heat. We were the first to champion the deck and thus luckily secured an ideal table in the shade sufficiently withdrawn from the limit of the overhang to escape even the angle of the glistening sunshine. We sat one at each end of the table, the other two looking directly upon the fairway.
After seventy-five years it occurred to me this afternoon as I breezily motored along the Appleton Side Road that life is a one way passage. This may initially resound as uninventive and unnecessarily restrictive but my inspiration is in fact quite the opposite. Contrary to the diminutive nature of the projection, the synthesis is the coalescence of both ambition and reality which I trust you’ll agree are less than trifling ingredients for philosophic reflection.
I have no idea where the expression “No worries!” comes from but I despise it. For me it generates even greater revulsion than, “That’s between you and I” because it transcends the purely technical realm of grammar and descends to some kind of yucky emotional presumption. To my utter surprise this morning, after receiving a message on my Apple Watch, one of the automatic suggested responses was, “No worries!” which I mockingly employed but which was completely useless and irrelevant to the original message I had sent about contact with a tradesman. More relevantly it was only last evening at table that we had discussed the offensive use of the phrase.
I just watched a red winged blackbird attach itself to the pointy end of the stem of a bush in the field directly in front of my sight. And only seconds later a rather hefty tractor happened along in the same field, apparently cultivating the soil for crops. We’ve often wondered what was to become of the open field which separates us from the Mississippi River. Until now – that is, since our arrival here on November 1st, 2022 – the land (perhaps 5 acres) has been lying dormant adjacent the distant farm house and outbuildings. All the other farmlands as far as the eye can see are demonstrably prepared for corn or wheat crops. The idle speculation of the apartment building residents is that residential development is not unforeseen on the immediate property though the proximity to the river is felt to ensure preservation of the flood plain and thus a respectable distance from expansion along the shoreline. Meanwhile however it appears that the owner of the farmland (or his tenant) is intent upon farming the land.
Many complications arise in the conduct of one’s daily ambitions. The least of them at this time of year may be, What to wear? The forecast today (Monday) is endless sunshine and glaring heat, up to 27°C and climbing progressively to Wednesday when it is anticipated to be 29°C under a cloudless iron hot sky. In fairness it dips thereafter to equal chance of sun and rain, 19°C for four days before regaining a medium expression. For now however it is a subtropical aspect. And I am dressed accordingly. I extracted from my universal XXL costumes a decidedly festive Hawaiian-style shirt meant to be worn untucked (an accommodation which I have always “fashioned” spares me ten pounds minimum). The inurement is naturally a deceit but the two combined speak comfort.
Mr. Macko’s latest reply (which by the way causes me considerable suspicion though I cannot say exactly why). I have not pursued this line of conversation further as I do not see any profit in doing so.
We dined this evening at the invitation of my erstwhile physician at this country estate in the Village of Ashton. Euphoria I know is a combination of many things not the least of which is psychotic ecstasy (itself a derivative of incalculable and often unconscious stimulants). So while I cannot aver without protest that the sole resource of my euphoria this evening is gastronomy, it is nonetheless very close to being so. Our host is a reputed fine cook. As well I have the advantage of having come to table with that blunt additive, a sustainable trace of an appetite having eaten breakfast many hours earlier and only having had a small plate of fruit and cheese midday. All of which was punctuated by an exhausting 45 minutes on the tricycle in the garage this morning and a prolonged dip in the pool this afternoon.
Those of us wet on the lips for the latest back and forth tailing Trump’s criminal conviction (and perhaps the fortunes of Republican Party) will be pleased to know there remains until the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November next (November 5, 2024) time to anticipate continued dialogue and repartée before the upshot of both the court case and the federal US election is fully discerned and the bets are off. Whether it means an end to the discussion is both fearful and exhilarating because either way it anticipates a change in America.
Quite by accident this afternoon I found myself unexpectedly engaged in an on-line conversation through the Substack platform I use to publish my own nonsense. Until now I hadn’t known anything other about Substack than what I require to publish or read my own stuff. The APP only has three choices, Inbox (empty), Chat (empty) and of course Home (my stuff and about a million or more Notes). From what I can tell the Notes are for use by the Substack writers to advertise themselves. But the vulgar commercial nature of the Notes does not diminish their collective entertainment value. As a “social medium” it seems geared to an older audience than Twitter (X). In any event the Notes make for sometimes entertaining reading.
Immediately following the Trump conviction, the Notes were replete with references to the trial and its political overtones. As I aimlessly and casually scrolled over the succession of Notes I occasionally paused to make a brief enquiry of the writer, never thinking I’d get a reply. But this afternoon to my surprise, one did. Here it is. I didn’t respond. I think you’ll agree that if the thinking of this writer reflects the “facts” which are constantly contradicted in this so-called dialogue, it will be a muddy road to the White House.
Lisa
Exactly. Not a fan of Trump, l am a fan of freedom and democracy. Look I think Trump is sleazy as hell, but this is total bullshit. All you people celebrating this, someday it could be you or someone you love being hauled in front of a judge and jury who were chosen based on hating your guts ***with no actual crime committed*** and this made it far more likely. Way to go, Trump Derangement Syndrome is what’s really killing democracy.
L. G. Wm. Chapman, B.A., LL.B.
Exactly how?
19h •••
Lisa
29min
Because if they can get him on (excuse pun) trumped up charges, just imagine what they can do to the rest of us.
L. G. Wm. Chapman, B.A., LL.B.
What is your education?
27min
Lisa
24min
I’ve got a BA, just like you. Didn’t realise I had to put it in my handle like some absolute twat.
L. G. Wm. Chapman, B.A., LL.B.
21min
I am attempting to understand precisely what knowledge or intelligence you have regarding the fault of the court case. So far it is just adjectives, no nouns; viz., slur not substance.
Lisa
5min
Perhaps you lead the charge and outline exactly what was right with it?